JК
Mistrals Kiss :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 97 из 148I knew the voice of the God, always male, but never the same. “You have spilled your blood, risked your lives, killed on this ground,” he intoned. That dark hood turned toward Sholto, and for a moment I thought I saw a chin, lips, but they changed even as I saw them. It was dizzying. “What would you give to bring life back to your people, Sholto?”
“Anything,” he whispered.
“Be careful what you offer,” the Goddess said, and her voice, too, was every woman’s, and none.
“I would give my life to save my people,” Sholto said.
“I do not wish to take it,” I responded, because the Goddess had offered me a similar choice once. Amatheon had bared his neck for a blade, so that life could return to the land of faerie. I had refused, because there were other ways to give life to the land. I was descended from fertility deities, and I knew well that blood was not the only thing that made the grass grow.
“This is not your choice,” she said to me. Was there a note of sorrow in her voice?
A dagger appeared in the air in front of Sholto. Its hilt and blade were all white, and gleamed oddly in the light. Sholto’s hand left the chalice and grabbed for the knife, almost by reflex. “The hilt is bone. It is the match to the spear,” Sholto said, and there was soft wonder in his voice as he gazed at the dagger.
“Do you remember what the dagger was used for?” said the God. “It was used to slay the old king. To spill his blood on this island,” Sholto replied obediently.
“Why?” the God asked.
“This dagger is the heart of the sluagh, or was once.”
“What does a heart need?”
“Blood, and lives,” Sholto answered, as if he were taking a test.
“You spilled blood and life on the island, but it is not alive.”
Sholto shook his head. “Segna was not a suitable sacrifice for this place. It needs a king’s blood.” He held the knife out toward the God’s shadowy figure. “Spill my blood, take my life, bring the heart of the sluagh back to life.”
“You are the king, Sholto. If you die, who will take back the spear, and bring the power back to your people?”
I knelt there, the blood growing tacky on my skin. I cradled the chalice in my hands, and had a bad feeling that I knew where this talk was going.
Sholto lowered the knife and asked, “What do you want of me, Lord?”
The figure pointed at me. “There is royal blood to spill. Do it, and the heart of the sluagh will live once more.”
Sholto stared at me, the look on his face full of shock.
“Anything,” he whispered.
“Be careful what you offer,” the Goddess said, and her voice, too, was every woman’s, and none.
“I would give my life to save my people,” Sholto said.
“I do not wish to take it,” I responded, because the Goddess had offered me a similar choice once. Amatheon had bared his neck for a blade, so that life could return to the land of faerie. I had refused, because there were other ways to give life to the land. I was descended from fertility deities, and I knew well that blood was not the only thing that made the grass grow.
“This is not your choice,” she said to me. Was there a note of sorrow in her voice?
A dagger appeared in the air in front of Sholto. Its hilt and blade were all white, and gleamed oddly in the light. Sholto’s hand left the chalice and grabbed for the knife, almost by reflex. “The hilt is bone. It is the match to the spear,” Sholto said, and there was soft wonder in his voice as he gazed at the dagger.
“Do you remember what the dagger was used for?” said the God. “It was used to slay the old king. To spill his blood on this island,” Sholto replied obediently.
“Why?” the God asked.
“This dagger is the heart of the sluagh, or was once.”
“What does a heart need?”
“Blood, and lives,” Sholto answered, as if he were taking a test.
“You spilled blood and life on the island, but it is not alive.”
Sholto shook his head. “Segna was not a suitable sacrifice for this place. It needs a king’s blood.” He held the knife out toward the God’s shadowy figure. “Spill my blood, take my life, bring the heart of the sluagh back to life.”
“You are the king, Sholto. If you die, who will take back the spear, and bring the power back to your people?”
I knelt there, the blood growing tacky on my skin. I cradled the chalice in my hands, and had a bad feeling that I knew where this talk was going.
Sholto lowered the knife and asked, “What do you want of me, Lord?”
The figure pointed at me. “There is royal blood to spill. Do it, and the heart of the sluagh will live once more.”
Sholto stared at me, the look on his face full of shock.